


Hope You're Hungry

by KillerKimera



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, Food, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Multi, Public Humiliation, Situational Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22371196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerKimera/pseuds/KillerKimera
Summary: Jack has enemies at his high school who are not above vandalizing his poor motorcycle.  Arcee has to pretend to be inanimate to avoid blowing her cover.  What occurs embarrasses and horrifies her.
Kudos: 20





	Hope You're Hungry

**Author's Note:**

> I tried out present tense and I'm not sure about how it turned out. Very open to constructive criticism.

A klaxon sounds from deep within the human school, and a slow clamor of a hundred voices sounds from within. The two humans Arcee had been watching got up to leave, quickly embracing and mashing lips before parting ways. She’d thought their conversation was a little too cutesy to be “just friends”. She couldn’t move until Jack came for her, but she felt a warmth in her spark that made her wish she could purr. 

Sitting incognito amongst the humans was a rare moment of peace she had come to cherish. Reclining there at the front parking lot, she could watch them live their innocent, happy lives, and pretend that there was no war going on. No losses, no pain, just Jenny and Brad finally getting around to kissing each other. Even though it was... a waste of time, not befitting a hardened autobot soldier... she still couldn’t help but find entertainment in the soap operas that were humans’ lives.

Human bodies soon obstruct her view, and she waits patiently for them to pass… but they do not. Five black-clad students cage her in. Her plating prickled. They hold several items that she can see; brown bags, a beverage, and one student lowers… is that a pair of wire cutters?! She whoops her own alarm, hoping to draw Jack’s attention, but the student deftly shoves his cutters beneath her console and silences her speakers. He may have done this before. Her cut wires spark painfully within her console. 

Her ventilations increase. It takes every piece of her willpower to keep her review mirrors still, and to keep her nervous vents quiet. These humans were so close; detection of her cybertronian nature felt inevitable. She hears a chuckle- the voice sounds familiar. She could remember hearing that student before. He speaks again, the words jolting fear through her spark; “Let’s fuck ‘er up, boys!”

She recognizes the voice; it was one who had harassed Jack. To him, she was just the property of someone he hates. That realization made her energon feel cold.

“Hope you’re hungry,” came a mutter behind her.

She can’t help a twitch in her steering column when something roughly nudges into her tailpipe. It’s nauseatingly soft, and oozes wetness. The boys don’t notice, or care, that she had moved. That was a thin relief, one she barely felt over the painful tickle of organic matter shoving deeper into her sensitive tailpipe. 

She gasps as a sharp piece of metal is dragged along her side. The damage, she can already tell, is only cosmetic. But with her gasp, that organic clod was sucked deep into the chamber of her muffler. She wants to gag, or backfire, but she can’t if she’s to be a believable Earth vehicle. Internal self-cleaning mechanisms twitch beneath the clod of organic filth. 

The one at her side scratches her again; another to her right pulls out his own metal nib and begins his own damage to her paint job. The one at her tailpipe begins rustling around with his paper bags, retrieving more organic matter to shove into her. His rough hands feel gleeful. Each lump pushed the previous lump deeper down, until she felt it drop into her muffler chamber. At that point, he seemed to run out, and the barrage of organic filth came to a thankful end.

Her engine, having its main channel for airflow blocked, begins to heat up. The heat spreads through her compact frame in an instant. She suddenly feels naked and even more violated, having her hot frame touched by strange humans. Grubby fingers touch her left rearview mirror, the teen pulling her sensor up, forcing her to watch him fix his hair.

A pressure tells her that someone is touching, pressing down on her front tire.

The bully speaks, “What’re these things made of, anyways?”

Arcee thanks Primus she still has Cybertronian grade tires. With her front optic sensor, she sees him take the knife to her plating, scraping till it catches on a transformation seam and rips a small hole between the panels of her front plating. A little steam escapes.

Then, he retrieves something from the bags they’d set down before her. The throng of bodies parts, and her plating is chilled by a hiss of some new horrible substance. With her now unobstructed rearview mirrors, she watches as human obscenities are scrawled in chill hisses of paint across her hot frame. The paint sizzles where it’s thick, but dries instantly. 

Arcee can’t believe what she’s been reduced to. Defaced, violated, and yet her heat keeps rising. She knows it isn’t from arousal, but that does not help the intense shame she feels as the boys use their mobile devices to film her defacement. The boys repeat the phrases to each other, laughing.

She watches the bully retrieve two last items that she recognized as litres of a bubbly human beverage. 

One of his cronies pauses, “Isn’t that a bit much? We’ve already-”

He pushes around the other to stand beside Arcee. 

“If you’re gonna be a baby,” he says, “Go home.”

She watched him unscrew the bottle, feeling her heat and anticipation build in a horrible way. She questioned if their cover was even worth all of this. She should back up and drive away. She should escape.

Her panic is cut through by a gallon of sugary, fizzy liquid splashing over her body. A second bottle is poured by a crony, splashed across her again. She was outraged for a moment by the feeling of liquid seeping into her internals, the bubbly drink corroding the sensitive attachments of her wires to her engine. After a second, the corrosion was complete, and her whole frame lit in an intense, orgasmic short circuit. Matter was expelled from her tailpipe by a ferocious backfire.

The teens jumped back, very wary of the electricity coursing over her frame. Rugged dampeners clamped down on the short-circuiting wire relay and she lost her powered steering, but gained back control of her frame. She vented roughly, her mirrors drooped, and her headlight lit up warmly with her embarrassment. Did she just..?!

Her assailants ran giggling and giddy away to their own car, hopping in and taking off. They left fast food wrappers, spray paint cans, and the empty litre soda bottles around her. Other students laughed, and she could hear them approaching. They took photographs, tinny shutter sounds coming from every angle. They gossip, and she didn’t bother translating their human speak, sure she didn’t want to hear what they’d say about her tingling, defiled frame.

Jack had been kept after class. Eighteen long minutes, Arcee sits, gasping from secondary vents as her polluted muffler overheats and burns the organic matter within her. She tries hard to endure as organic eyes remained on her, pausing and giggling and taking pictures the whole time she’s there. Jack runs to her on sight, and tries to ask if she was ok; she shushes him. When Jack sits down, she does not start right away. She shivers beneath him, crying silent tears. Her frame ran hot, now from only embarrassment.

She didn’t speak until they were on the road, and even then, she spoke in a small, quiet voice.

“You can’t tell Ratchet.”


End file.
